


Crossing The Lines

by wildwordwomyn



Series: Lines [2]
Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn





	Crossing The Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prncssflutterby](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=prncssflutterby).



It’s supposed to be a party. That’s what Chris calls it. Only he’s been drinking (a lot) and he’s sitting in Jensen’s lap. Literally. Like he’s been there before and wants to be there again. They’re joking and flirting as usual. All Steve can think is _it’s supposed to be a party_. And Chris is crossing that line of his. Again. In front of him. Yeah. Finally, after an hour of misery, of watching and waiting and stewing in his frustration, he gets up from the sofa to leave. Chris doesn’t notice until he’s at the door about to walk out.

“Hey, Steve, where ya goin?” he asks loudly, thinking he’s talking softly.

“Home.” The answer is clipped, sharp.

“But the party ain’t over!” He forgets that Steve doesn’t know the guy throwing said party, or most of the guests.

“For me it is. See ya, Kane,” he calls, opening the door. He walks out without looking back.

Chris stands there in the entryway, swaying slightly from intoxication, confused as to why Steve was so pissed at him. He tries to remember what he did this time but comes up blank. When he turns back to Jensen he has a frown on his face that Jensen interprets easily. He stands and comes to Chris’s side. They talk for a minute of Steve’s leaving, of the possible whys of it. Chris won’t get too in-depth about how he feels about it. Of course, he wouldn’t even if he were sober. Jensen, though, shakes his head, disappointed. He figures out that Steve is jealous. He tells Chris this but Chris laughs it off. Jealous of what? Jensen then asks if he ever told Steve about them being fuck-buddies when Jensen first came to L.A. Chris laughs again and Jensen knows for sure now. He shakes his head again and pushes Chris out the door, begging him to talk to Steve before Steve leaves him for good. It isn’t until Jensen says out loud what Chris is thinking that he sobers up. He walks briskly to Steve’s loft, lost in his head, seeing nothing but the path that will lead him to Steve.

“Steve?” he yells, banging a fist on his front door fifteen minutes later. “Steve? Let me in!” When the door doesn’t open Chris reaches for the spare key over the door frame. He unlocks the door and lets himself in. “Steve? Where are you, you bastard?” He finds him a second later when he enters the kitchen. Steve is baking cookies. Not the store-bought kind. Homemade chocolate chip cookies. And this is a bad sign. Chris lays the key down on the counter beside Steve’s hand hesitantly, suddenly afraid.

“Leave me alone, Kane.” Being called Kane is another bad sign. Steve only does these two things when he’s pissed at him.

“You’re baking cookies,” he says stupidly. He wonders just how far he’s pushed the man now. If he might just be at his breaking point.

“Fine. You wanna do this?” he straightens up from the counter where he was folding creamer into the batter. “You and Jensen are sleeping together. How long?”

“What? Steve, we’re not.” Steve cocks his head. “We’re not.” His soft blonde head cocks some more. Chris realizes he is in pretty deep shit. “We did…We…When he first moved out here we were fuck buddies, but that’s all. I swear!”

“Fuck buddies?” He searches Chris’s eyes. “And this is supposed to make me feel better how?”

“We were never…Me and Jen are friends, Steve. That’s all. Neither of us wants more. ‘Sides, he’s too in love with that kid he works with to even look twice at me!” Chris keeps watching him warily.

“Friends…Who fuck…Great…” Steve rubs his face tiredly with a rough hand. “Are you still? Because you act like it. Especially when you’ve been drinking.”

“No! That part’s over! I swear on a stack of bibles!” Chris’s eyes wander as if he’s actually looking for the stack, ready to give his word to the Lord.

“Kane, you don’t believe in God.”

Steve looks like hell, and he feels even worse. It’s obvious he’s tired of Chris’s games, the same games Chris says he doesn’t play. Tired enough to walk away. He needs more than Chris offers, than Chris wants, and all the words Chris never says to him get sifted through the silence settling around them. For Steve it’s easy. Either Chris needs him too or he doesn’t. Either he’s just in it for the sex or it’s only the start of something more. Either he steps up to the plate or he says adios. For good. Because he can’t take it anymore. He’s not sleeping enough, not eating enough, not writing and singing and playing enough. This is unforgivable. Steve is so busy loving Chris that he has forgotten to love himself, and Chris has let him.

“Chris, listen, okay? Listen to me because I’m only gonna say this once…” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly to gather his thoughts, then looks him in the eyes and speaks. “I have never had better sex with anyone. I have never had better conversations with anyone. I’ve never written better songs or sung with a stronger voice. When we’re together I’m right here. With you. Nothing else matters…It’s you, Chris. You’re that soul mate I always wanted to find, and I love you more than I can ever say. I got no regrets when it comes to how I’ve loved you. But I’m done, man. I’m done. I gave you my heart and soul. I got nothin’ else, but you keep taking more and more, and I got nothin’ else to give…” Chris’s eyes get big. For a second it looks like he might cry, but Steve sees him steel himself against his own emotions and he knows it’s time. “I love you, Chris, but get the fuck outta my house, and my life!”

He herds Chris through the kitchen, through the living room and out the front door, then deadbolts it behind him in case he tries to come back. And then, because it is a sure thing, breaks down and cries as if his heart is breaking. Because the truth is, it’s breaking into a million tiny little pieces. And he’s pretty positive the one person who could put it back together again never will. The sounds he makes, the ones that get forced from his solar plexus up through his chest and out of his mouth, are the kinds of sounds that have no words, that defy description. They are sounds of pain, and they are long and loud…


End file.
